


& Beyond

by arsons



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, One Word Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-17 11:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsons/pseuds/arsons
Summary: Ouma and Momota try something new, every day, in different places and times.Things go as well as they can. Sometimes.





	1. Cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [no6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no6/gifts).



> kat. so as to not wax poetic in the notes section, i just want to let you know: you’re my best friend; you inspire and encourage me every day, and i’m so, so thankful that we know each other. here’s your official organized oumota mess, because the pairing makes you happy, and making you happy is probably my best and favorite reason for writing.
> 
> and, for better context—hi! as mentioned, this is a ficlet collection for the month of february. all (one-word) prompts were recommended to me by no6, and then i ran with them as i could. some are shorter, some are longer, but nothing goes on too much. i’ll be updating 3 other times with the completed prompts for the week. i’ll also specify some sort of context in the notes each chapter.
> 
> have fun with these clowns, if possible...if not, just close your eyes and hope for the best, hah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

Momota had walked nearly half a block alone before he’d noticed Ouma was missing from his side; at the realization, he backtracked to where Ouma was crouched at the opening of an alley, a hand extended in front of him.

“This is a new one,” Momota said, twisting to miss bumping shoulders with the opposing flow of traffic. “Hope you’re not planting some shit, man. The fuck are you doing down—“

“Shh!” Ouma hissed, turning to make a shushing motion with his unoccupied hand. “You’re gonna scare it, Momota-chan!” he said, his voice an angry whisper.

“Scare wh—“ Momota began, then stopped once he followed Ouma’s eyes to the stray cat perched behind a trash can. “Ohhh... Oh, I see. Hey, Ouma—“

“Shh!” Ouma hissed again, back in his original position. “Hi, smelly,” he said gently, the words directed elsewhere.

“Hey!” Momota said, a bit too loudly; a passerby shot him a dirty look. “You can’t call it names! That’ll hurt its—“

“SHH!” Ouma shushed, whipping to face him. “Shut up, Momota-chan! As if you know about—“

“I know enough about—“

“What cats like hearing—“

“Cats to know that—“

“They can’t understand—“

“Wait!” Momota said suddenly, glancing back up to the path in front of them. The trash can was unmoved, but the cat was nowhere to be seen. “Uh... Where’d it go?”

“Aww, way to go, Momota-chan!” Ouma whined, rising to his feet, brushing dirt off of his knees. “Your stupid, booming voice scared it off! Everyone alive is sick of that, you know.”

Momota blinked down at Ouma, taking in his angry expression. After a moment, his face slackened, and only the red tinge remained; he pointedly turned his head away.

Momota smiled. “Tch, you’re not, though,” he said, taking Ouma’s hand in his. “C’mon, jackass, you have other things to harass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ouma grumbled, following as Momota pulled him along. “We’re coming back for it later, though!”


	2. Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“Just keep walking!” Ouma hissed, his arms wrapped tight around Momota’s waist. “If you just go, Momota-chan, no one will even notice!”

“I think,” Momota said, trying to pry Ouma’s locked fingers apart on his abdomen, “that people’re gonna fuckin’ notice that I have four arms!”

“Shh!” Ouma shushed, pressing against Momota’s back to move him forward. As Momota stumbled, Ouma continued, “You know, they definitely won’t! Anything up with your arms is toootally less obvious than your flashy, stupid face!”

“My face isn’t stupid!” Momota yelled, spinning in place. “Get the fuck off!”

“SHH!” Ouma shushed again, still hanging on tight. Instead of being shaken off by Momota’s movements, they seemed to make Ouma hold on more securely. Momota growled in frustration and took a step back.

“Oi!” Ouma yelped, finally tripping up. “Momota-chan! Stop trying to kill me!”

“Don’t joke about that!” Momota responsed. “Just let the fuck go, I’m serious!”

“Harumaki-chan is gonna punch me, though!” Ouma whined. Momota began shrugging his jacket off of his shoulder, to which Ouma responsed by shoving his arm through the empty, hanging sleeve.

“The fuck!?” Momota said, trying to spin once again. “Ouma! Stop it!”

“No! Someone has to protect me, and you’ve got the best hiding spot!”

“I didn’t say you could get in my fucking jacket!” Momota cried, punching against Ouma’s hands as he secured them around Momota again. “S-Seriously! I’ll fucking hit you!”

“Good luck trying it!” Ouma called from where he was hidden between Momota’s jacket and his back. “Hey, what kind of material is this made of anyway? Just purple?”

“Purple isn’t a fucking fabric!” Momota yelled again. He made one more attempt to spin Ouma off, then froze abruptly. Ouma was just opening his mouth to ask what had happened when Momota shoved his sleeved arm down and pushed the other behind him.

“H-Hey!” Momota stuttered, and Ouma cringed against his back. God, what an actor. “Harumaki! I’m just, uh—“

A pause. Ouma lifted his arm to wave to Harukawa, then remembered his hand was too small to convincingly masquerade as Momota’s. Momota smacked it down before Ouma could retract it.

“—st...standing around, you know? H-How about—“

“Is there a reason you have four legs?” Harukawa asked, her voice flat.

“N...” Momota started, sounding far too nervous. “No...?”

“Well,” Harukawa said, and Ouma could only imagine she was giving Momota the dirtiest look. “When you’re done acting like an idiot, I’ll be in Toujou’s lab, scrubbing the paint out of Saihara’s clothes with bleach.”

“That—what?” Momota asked, but the tapping of Harukawa’s shoes was already receding down the hallway.

Ouma shook his head. “Four legs,” he said, once Harukawa sounded far away enough. “Momota-chan, how could you forget you had four legs?”

“That—you—don’t fucking blame me!” Momota barked, struggling with his jacket once again. “And what the fuck was that with my arms!? And Harumaki—“

“It was an accident!” Ouma cried, twisting as Momota attempted to throw him off for the millionth time. “Saihara-chan just happened to walk in the way of my paintball gun!”

Momota stalled. “Your what?”

In the hesitation, Ouma decided to make a bold move; he spun backwards, rolling Momota’s jacket with him, and tugged the sleeve on Momota’s arm from the bottom.

“Hey!” Momota called, just as Ouma pulled the jacket free. He took off down the hallway with it wrapped around him. “Ouma!”

“You said, let go!” Ouma mocked, heading for the staircase. “Nishishi, what an idiot!”


	3. Dramatics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“And THEN,” Ouma cried, throwing both hands in front of himself, palms outward, “Gonta-kun picked me up and threeeew me straight into the wall! It didn’t even shatter, Momota-chan! And you’re the one who always says I’m hardheaded!”

“Uh, what?” Momota asked, looking up from the rice in front of him. Ouma’s arms were now spread in some poor imitation of what was probably meant to be airplane wings. “That’s not what the fuck hardheaded means, kid! You got Gonta to chuck you at the damn wall for some half-assed insult?”

“No,” Ouma said simply, sitting down next to him. “What a bland breakfast, Momota-chan. You wake up at 7:00 AM for plain rice? Try adding jelly beans to it, next time.”

Momota blinked hard, then shook his head. “Never fuckin’ know what any of this means. Swear to God...”

“Oh?” Ouma asked, already back on his feet. Momota groaned. “You’d swear at God? That reminds me a funny story, actually!”

While Ouma slammed his fist into his other hand, looking harsh and determined in the gray, morning light, Momota just sighed. He lifted his legs from under the table, then spun around to face Ouma. “Fine, kid,” he said, running a hand back through his hair. “I’m listening to this one.”

Ouma’s face lit up. “You won’t regret it, Momota-chan! Now, should I start with the lions, or should I start with the gang war...”


	4. Bedsharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

Momota was on the edge of consciousness; a fan in front of him, an arm around him, and then—a soft sound by his ear.

“Hey, Momo-chan.”

“What,” Momota said lowly, tilting his head slightly back to acknowledge the voice addressing him.

“Have you ever thought about selling all that extra blood you’ve got? You could probably make a fortune like that on the black market!”

“Explain,” Momota murmured, too tired to speak any further.

“Well, it’s just that you’re so warm. You must have awesome circulation! Your family should be so proud—but what’s it for, I wonder? Why do you need it?”

Momota snorted and laid his head back down, pulling the hand on his chest up to his mouth to kiss it. Instead of a whisper, the next noise behind him was little more than a squeak.

“S’to keep you warm, idiot... G’night.”

“...Night,” Ouma finished, his voice only an octave or three higher than it’d been seconds before.


	5. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“Hasn’t rained in quite a while,” Ouma commented, his tone light and airy. Momota looked over at him swinging his legs back and forth under the picnic table, the wood creaking in tune with his movements.

“Hasn’t rained at all, you mean.”

“Eh? Am I forgetting? Could’ve sworn it rained just the other day! Oh, wait,” Ouma pondered, tapping his chin, “think that was actually Gonta-kun crying on me after the trial. What a baby!”

Momota blinked at Ouma and turned away. His plan had been to have a quiet, solitary lunch, but Ouma managed to track him down. As always. Even on the far deck outside the broken cafeteria doors, Ouma found a way to manifest.

“Ah, is Momota-chan not going to fight back? How boring. Thought that’d rile you up for sure!”

“Our friends died yesterday,” Momota said.

“Anyways!” Ouma exclaimed, pulling Momota’s plate towards him. He began piling the untouched food onto his own. “I do miss the rain, and my rain boots. When we get out of here, Momota-chan, you should join me on a frog hunt! It’ll be rainy and foggy, and we can jump from puddle to puddle together. Fun, right?”

Momota didn’t know what to say.

“Ohhh,” Ouma drawled, “sorry. Forgot that we weren’t leaving this place. Well, maybe it’ll be possible in the afterlife.”

Before Momota could finally snap to attention and tell him off, Ouma was pulling himself up from the table. He didn’t glance back as he turned on his heel, plates in hand, and made his way down the stairs.

“Just let me know, Momota-chan,” he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.


	6. Checkerboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“Momota-chan’s move,” Ouma said, pushing a King backwards in preparation to jump one of Momota’s remaining pieces. Momota sighed at the predicament and leant forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

“Can’t chase me forever,” he said, low, moving his piece forward to avoid the potential loss. Ouma chased again without hesitation; most of their pieces had long since been cleared from the board, and with not much else to worry him, he was ardent to capture one of Momota’s outstanding checkers.

“ _Au contraire_ ,” Ouma smiled, watching Momota deliberate again. “Gonna have to run yourself into the wall on this one, Momota-chan! It was a valiant try, but—“

“Hang on,” Momota interrupted, squinting down at the board. “You’re not trying to fuckin’ chase me to capture, you just want me out of my own damn territory!”

“—might as well…give it up,” Ouma finished lamely, blinking as Momota moved a King forward to block the path Ouma had cleared to crown. “Jeez, Momota-chan… I asked you of all people to play with me because I thought you’d be dumb. Ah, well,” Ouma continued, before Momota could get too angry at the slight, “either way, you still lose this. So long!”

Ouma punctuated his words by jumping Momota’s piece he had trailed. It may have been an uncovered distraction, but he still took a small joy in adding it to his pile next to the board. Across from him, Momota exhaled loudly.

“Well, I’m not fuckin’ dumb, but I’m not that good, either,” Momota admitted, rubbing his chin. “It’s just that you’re way too predictable, Ouma. Trying to lure me into shit nonstop…”

“Predictable!?” Ouma spluttered, whipping his head up to face Momota, who was still busy staring at his limited moves. It was as if he _hadn’t_ realized he’d fired an insult specifically to get under Ouma’s skin. “I’m a loose cannon, and you know it!”

“You proud of that?” Momota asked, finally settling on pushing a King backwards. If Ouma were to move his King forward once more, Momota’s piece was in ample position to jump it. Ouma frowned as Momota looked up at him, saying, “Of course you would be, man. I’d know by now that that’s the kind of thing you’re into…”

Ouma lifted his gaze to meet Momota’s eyes. Instead of taking offense, he flashed a sweet smile and pushed his King back. Momota gave chase, studying him. They were quick on their way to retrace the path they’d just followed, this time with Momota in pursuit. “Bite me, Momota-chan,” Ouma said pleasantly, securing his piece away at the edge, so there were no longer open positions for Momota to fill.

“Tch,” Momota scoffed, sliding a piece of his along the opposite end of the board. “Keep hiding there, sure, but you’ll have to come out eventually.”

“Everything comes out eventually when it’s backed into a corner,” Ouma hummed, his tenor of one who might comment on the weather. He slid one of his own pieces along the end Momota had, edging closer to him yet again. “Ah, how funny. Your move, Momota-chan.”

The cat-and-mouse game continued long into the night, ending not with a victor, but a stalemate once all their moves had run out.


	7. Siri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

Ouma was busy with his phone when the apartment door swung open; though Momota made a significant amount of noise entering, Ouma didn’t stir from his spread arrangement on the couch.

“Hey to you, too,” Momota snorted, mussing Ouma’s hair as he strolled to hang his coat in the corner. Again, Ouma remained still, his eyes fixated on his screen.

“Uh...” Momota said, turning to watch Ouma in some concern. Silence, he’d discovered, was an odd thing to experience in Ouma’s presence. He walked back towards the couch and waved a hand in front of his head. “Earth to Ouma Kokichi, dude. You okay down there?”

Ouma glanced up to track the movement of his hand, then shifted his gaze to study Momota’s face; his own stayed blank as he held his phone in front of him. Before Momota could comment, Ouma was pressing the home button in.

“Siri,” Ouma said, not breaking eye contact, “what’s my name?”

“YOUR-NAME-IS-KOKICHI,” the robotic voice responded, “BUT-YOU-ASKED-ME-TO-CALL-YOU-HI-KAI-CHAN-I-HOPE-YOUR-DAY-WAS-LOVELY-BUT-WOULDN’T-IT-BE-LOVELIER-IF-YOU-TOOK-ME-ON-A-DATE-TONIGHT-PRETTY-PLEASE-I-WOULD-EVEN-LET-YOU-CHOOSE-OUR-PLANS-BECAUSE-I-AM-A-GOOD-BOYFRIEND-AND-NOT-A-MENACE-AND-ALSO-I-DID-MY-OWN-LAUNDRY-SO-DON’T-BRING-THAT-UP.”

Momota blinked. “You couldn’t have asked me that yourself?”

“Siri,” Ouma repeated, “say no.”

“NO,” Siri said.

As the corners of Momota’s mouth curved up, he reached down to dishevel Ouma’s hair even further. Ouma closed his eyes and smiled as well.

“Can’t say no to a guy who does laundry,” Momota laughed, already heading back for his coat. “Get up, we’re gonna go watch that shit about car racing!”

“Uggghhh,” Ouma groaned, not sounding unhappy in the slightest. “Fine, weirdo, but you’ll owe me next time!”


	8. Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

“So, that’s doing well,” Ouma offered, nodding his head towards the plant in the corner of the room. Momota tilted his head back to inspect it as well. Though the angle was awkward, Ouma could vaguely see Momota’s mouth turning up into a smile.

“You just like reminding me you can be a good boyfriend, sometimes.”

“Huh!” Ouma huffed. “I am astounded at the accusation! I can be a good boyfriend all the time. Remember when I coated your shoes in jelly?”

“...You consider that good?” Momota asked.

“Yeah,” Ouma shrugged. “Portable lunch.”

Momota looked down at Ouma, curled against the side of his arm, still smiling. Ouma squinted his eyes and pulled a sour expression.

“Eh? You’re looking creepier than usual...”

“Think I just missed you or some shit. I know, saying something like that...”

“You were only gone for a half hour!” Ouma said, reaching up to flick Momota on the forehead. When he didn’t react, Ouma continued, “Seriously!? You’re just gonna let me get away with whatever?”

“Well, you’re letting me be affectionate for once.”

“For once! Huh, for once? You hold me every—“

“No, I don’t!”

“Ehhh, you don’t? What happened last night when—“

“S-Stop! That’s embarrassing, get a grip—“

Akamatsu appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, frowning as the two of them fell silent. “...Did you forget you had company?” she asked, brushing some hair behind her ear. “Seriously, you two...”

“What,” Ouma asked, “we can’t flirt in our own house? I forgot that Akamatsu-chan hated us!”

“I don’t hate you!” Akamatsu chasised as Momota poked Ouma in the ribs with a, “Hey.”

“This is just... New, still? I didn’t expect you two to be...”

“So in love?” Ouma asked, turning his nose up. “Well, get used to it, Piano Freak!”

“Don’t say that,” Momota grumbled. He turned his head towards Akamatsu. “You know, I wasn’t expecting to like him much, either.”

“But look at us now!” Ouma added, leaning up to place an off-centered kiss against Momota’s jaw. “Me and this idiot get along great!”

“...Sure,” Akamatsu said, watching and blinking as Momota and Ouma devolved back into a petty argument. Despite how...unexpected everything was, she couldn’t help but smiling at the two of them. “You’re both different, but... I think most things stayed the same.”


	9. Clowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a non-despair au.

“So, DICE,” Momota says, and Ouma lets out a harsh-sounding giggle from the other side of the room. “You ever gonna tell me what the hell that’s all about?”

“Nope, Momota-chan!” Ouma says, leaning up on his toes to rearrange the top-shelf contents of the classroom’s bookshelf. Or, he tries to. Momota watches the pitiful display for some seconds more before sighing and heading over.

“Seriously, you go on and on about how you’re this evil Supreme Leader,” Momota says, reaching over Ouma to push the stilted books back into their proper places. Ouma peers up at his face from below. “But then you don’t give any more story to it than that. Sounds like you’re all bark and no bite.”

“...It’s a clown organization,” Ouma says, and Momota looks down at the strange pitch in his voice. Ouma blinks quickly, then all traces of non-devious emotion flee his face. “Or, maybe it’s not. But isn’t that exactly what a clown would say to you?”

Momota snorts and steps away from the shelf, shaking his head. “No, you’re probably right.”

“Right about—hey, Momo-chan!” Ouma calls, the patter of footsteps swiftly approaching Momota from behind. “You can’t just call me a clown and get away with it! Have you seen a mirror, lately?”


	10. Pillow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a non-despair au.

Momota was weighing his options.

On one hand, this was probably an opportunity nobody else had received before. Ouma was elusive; nearly everything about him was concealed by mystery. Momota wasn’t—curious, necessarily, but he was interested in finding a conclusion to a story that was based in secrecy. 

It was supposed to be Saihara’s job to uncover secrets, though last time Momota has asked him to investigate Ouma, Saihara had said, “Momota-kun, is that what you’ve been thinking about this whole time? You almost crashed the car,” which wasn’t an answer, so the whole case was up to Momota. If he waited a bit longer, Ouma would need to leave eventually, and then perhaps he could walk home with him, and—

And on the other hand, Momota was going to miss his bus stop.

“...Hey,” he whispered, shrugging his shoulder lightly. Ouma made a soft sound against the side of Momota’s neck and wrapped his arms even tighter around him. “Hey,” Momota repeated, his voice a bit more strained. He rolled his shoulder again. “Ouma. Dickhead. Wake up, I gotta go.”

“Ehhh,” Ouma groaned, finally seeming to come somewhat to. He didn’t lift his head from Momota’s shoulder as he said, “Quit with your physics BS.”

“What?” Momota asked. “The hell are you—“

“Get hired as...a pillow, instead... I’m sure you could find... A profession...”

And with that, Ouma was back to sleep.

Damn.

When Momota walked into his house later that evening, carrying a plastic bag filled with candy wrappers and bottles, he told his grandparents that missing his stop had been a mistake.


	11. Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“Do you regret meeting me?” Ouma asked. He pulled his legs up onto the couch to sit on top of them.

Momota snorted. “Not like I had a fuckin’ choice in the matter.” When Ouma didn’t respond, Momota continued, “But, uh, what kind of fucking question is that?”

Ouma hummed, a shrill, childish sound that pierced the air between them. From the corner of his eye, Ouma could tell that Momota had looked over at him, but he did not return the gaze. “It’s just a question, Momota-chan. No such thing as a stupid question, right?”

“Uh,” Momota said, still looking at him. “I guess not? As long as you’re gathering new knowledge, then you’re—“

“But what if your question doesn’t give you any new knowledge?” Ouma asked. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” Momota said, now sounding assured. “You’re always learning something from a question. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be asking it!”

“What about rhetorical questions?”

“Rhetorical what?” Momota asked.

Ouma rolled his eyes. “Momota-chan, you’re the leading expert when it comes to stupid questions.”

“Hey! I just said, there’s no such thing as a stupid question!”

Ouma bit his tongue to hold in the natural giggle that wanted to follow his success at riling Momota; there was certainly _something_ about getting under his skin. “So, what did I learn, then?”

“What?” Momota asked. “When?”

Ouma caved. He turned to face Momota, and his genuine expression wasn’t surprising in the slightest. “You didn’t have a choice in meeting me, so what did I learn?”

Momota blinked. “Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

“Oh, sure,” Ouma sighed. “I’ve learned that Momota-chan avoids obvious answers so as to not spoil my feelings, and he’s a wimp coward without passion or purpose!”

Momota twitched at that. “I’m—not a fucking coward, dude! Jesus! What the hell kind of answer were you expecting?”

“Oh, I got the one I was expecting!” Ouma clarified. “I didn’t gain much knowledge from asking it. It was the follow-up that did that! Nishishi, Momota-chan thinks questions are handy, then... I’ll keep that in mind. Though, Momota-chan. If it’s important to uncover knowledge, using a l—“

“Well, then I don’t regret meeting you,” Momota suddenly interrupted, and Ouma blinked at the words; before he could process too much, he felt his stomach churn unpleasantly. 

What, was Momota proud of himself for throwing that out there? As if it’d catch Ouma off guard? He was looking...more determined than usual.

Determined, and honest.

It made Ouma’s skin crawl.

Momota continued, “Remember what Aka—“

“No take-backs!” Ouma huffed, turning his nose up.

“Wh—when the fuck did that become a rule!?” Momota spluttered. “Hey, Ouma! I meant it! You’re—an annoying piece of shit, but you’re—“ Momota jumped back on the couch. “Wh-What the fuck!?”

Ouma had figured the best way to dissolve the building conversation was to produce his knife, so he did. 

“Ouma!

“Whaaat? Is there a problem?”

Momota got to his feet. He was red as he spat, “Where the hell did you get that!? Why did you have it on you?”

“The kitchen,” Ouma responded promptly. “And it’s for inflicting purely non-fatal wounds, so you can sit down, Momota-chan. Say, your questions weren’t so dumb, after all—“

Momota ripped the knife away from Ouma with some renewed strength, and Ouma got to his feet as well. “Hey!” Ouma exclaimed, no real heat in his voice. “Momota-chan! Stealing isn’t manly behavior, is it?”

Momota was already heading from the room, his coat billowing behind him. Ouma just crossed his arms and glared at Momota’s back, giving no chase or fight as he took off without comment.

Momota was headed for the kitchen, Ouma knew; that gave him a few minutes to reach the exact opposite end of the school and remain as far away from him as possible. Ouma figured he could manage it, and as soon as he could no longer hear Momota’s footsteps ascending the staircase, he bolted from the room.


	12. Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

“You have ugly eyes,” Ouma said. Momota didn’t look up from his laptop.

“Uh,” he responded. “Yeah.”

“D’you know that you have some really ugly hair, too? I mean, Kai-chan, I haven’t seen anyone else with such a nasty style before. Ever!”

“Right,” Momota said.

“At least it matches with your goatee. Imagine having facial hair! Ewww, I could never do something as stupid as that. You know, I’m pretty sure you go to hell anyway, if you don’t shave your face.”

“You’re right,” Momota said.

“And your smile is ugly.”

“Okay.”

“Same with your body. You’re built like a pineapple, or something.”

“Mhmm.”

“And face. Everything is just a mess there!”

“Sure,” Momota said, and Ouma slammed his laptop shut. Momota jumped in his seat and spun to face him.

“The hell was—“

Ouma reached out and put both hands on either side of Momota’s face. At the gesture, Momota blinked; when Ouma leaned closer, he remained just as still.

“I said,” Ouma stressed, “that I think you’re ugly, Kaito.”

Momota stared up at him. After a pause, he asked, “Are you coming on to me?”

“Dipshit,” Ouma said, and kissed him.


	13. Wig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“You’re fucking with me!” Momota cried; the instant Ouma walked into the cafeteria, Momota was on his feet. “What the—where in the...what the hell, Ouma!?”

“Hm? Is something the matter?” Ouma asked innocently, taking a seat at the far end of the table. Harukawa and Saihara were gaping at him openly, too distracted to realize Momota was getting far too heated for his own good. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Or a mirror...” Shirogane offered from two seats down. “Say, Ouma-kun, did you...”

“Huh?” Ouma said, looking over at her. “Oh—you mean the haircut, right? No, it’s not from your lab! I just spent two hours in the bathroom ruining myself with shitty gel and spray to make myself uglier. Don’t I look awful, Shirogane-chan?”

“That’s it!” Momota called, slamming his hands down on the table. Harukawa seemed to have recovered from the shock, but she made no move to stop Momota when he kicked out of his chair hard enough to send it flying.

“Ah! Catch you all later!” Ouma laughed, sprinting for the door, his perfectly replicated Momota-wig left forgotten behind the two as they raced down the hall.


	14. Embarrassment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

“D’you know Momota-chan rocks me to sleep every night when I have bad dreams?” Ouma said, and over at the counter, Momota choked on his drink.

“Does he?” Harukawa asked, her tone betraying nothing. From opposite ends of the kitchen, Ouma could see that Saihara and Akamatsu were making odd faces at each other.

“N-No I don’t!” Momota finally stuttered, slamming his glass down. He coughed hard, then tried to continue speaking. “He’s making—he’s making that shit up—!”

“Listen to him go,” Ouma sighed, folding his hands under his chin to watch Momota act damn near close to hacking up a lung. “Momota-chan’s just too shy to let you all know that we’ve been having a secret love affair since we moved in together. Isn’t that right, Momo-chan?”

“Momo-chan?” Saihara repeated, still making a face at Akamatsu.

Momota continued to cough frantically in the kitchen. While one hand supported him against the wall, he began waving his dissent with the other, too choked up to do much else. Ouma just smiled at his hung head.

“On top of that, Momo-chan insists on holding my hand if we try and go out anywhere together. Romantic, right?”

“That was one time!” Momota shouted, his voice scratchy. He was still facing the floor, and through his disheveled hair, Ouma could see that he had gone quite red. “A-And don’t fucking call me that!”

“One time?” Akamatsu asked, glancing between him and Ouma. “Momota-kun, did—“

“He was trying to pet a service dog!” Momota finally whipped up to face everyone again. As he cleared his throat, Ouma continued to smile. “S-So I took his hand! Big fucking deal! Why are you bringing that up!?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Ouma said. Saihara looked over at him. “But it’s not gonna distract our dear friends from the fact that you’re in passionate love with me! Do you not want them to get jealous at our happiness, or something?”

Momota’s face was flushed so deeply that he was beginning to look ill. “The fuck is the matter with you!?”

“Gotta be it,” Ouma decided, nodding. “Hey, Harumaki-chan, did you know that Momo-chan treated me to a romantic dinner last night?”

“That was ramen on the balcony!”

“We watched the stars,” Ouma sighed. He threw a hand over his face. “The two of us, so close that we were almost—“

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Momota-kun,” Saihara said, taking a concerned step towards him. Though he hadn’t coughed for a good bit, Momota was still looking far too winded. “Are you... Do you want to take a step out of the room with me for a bit?”

“You better, or else he’s gonna do something...” Akamatsu said, purpose tinging her voice. “No one is supposed to be fighting tonight! Ouma-kun, why would you make things up?”

“Huh? Me, making things up?” Ouma said, and Harukawa made a distasteful sound. “That’s crazy! Akamatsu-chan, why would you accuse me of something so out-of-character?”

Just as Akamatsu began to argue back with him, Ouma glanced over at Saihara whispering to Momota, who was still looking ready to rip Ouma to pieces, along with...something else, in his expression, that Ouma didn’t think too hard about.

“Don’t be gone too long!” Ouma called, cutting Akamatsu off to blow a kiss at Momota. “Or else I’ll start to miss you!”

“Fuck off!” Momota yelled just as he slammed the door behind him and Saihara.


	15. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“What,” Momota slurred, his head hung limply over the toilet, “are you doing.”

“Momota-chan, I’m just trying to imbue some of Angie-chan’s healing powers unto you!” Ouma said, wrapping his arms even tighter around one of Momota’s. “Isn’t that obvious? But, ah, at least you managed to get to the bathroom this time. I’m sure Toujou-chan would’ve hated to clean up your sticky, bloody mess in the hallways!”

Instead of answering, Momota coughed violently; his body shook as if experiencing dry heaves, and Ouma responsed by tightening his grip on Momota’s right arm. Though he couldn’t quite see what Momota was doing from his spot behind him, the following sound was unmistakably that of dripping water. Or, blood dripping into water.

“Feel better?” Ouma asked.

“Why are you here,” Momota groaned, his head lolling to hit against the side of the stall.

“To make sure you don’t die,” Ouma offered, tracing his small fingertips along Momota’s. “Or, you know, witness it if you do. Would be a real shame if everyone blindly stumbled upon your corpse in the morning.”

“Not funny.”

“Not a joke,” Ouma shrugged. “Go ahead, Momota-chan. I won’t judge if your lungs need to bleed a little bit.”

Ouma was sure Momota would’ve jumped to answer if he’d had the chance, but instead, he jolted forward once more to wheeze and hack and splutter. Ouma squinted through the dim light and frowned, his grip stiff on Momota’s hand.


	16. Keysmash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Dude

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: 2 for 1 sale on watermelon at the local market

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Also I hope you changed my contact name

> hmm you couldn’t wait til u were home to tell me this??? (╭ರ_⊙) sounds like this text is......meaningful..

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Yeah I just bought like 5

> THRLSWYDBKYPA WHAT

> Y DIDNT U GET AN EVEN NUMBER MATH WIZ

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Damn. Hang on

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Was that an acronym

> PLEASE don’t tell me ur buying more!! Please. please. CAN U CARRY THAT

> Also, are you a dumbass motherfucker?

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Tf

> My God. I am dating a fuckboy.

> Yes, Kaito, it stands for... That Handbag Really Looks Swell With Your Dumb Bitch Kids You’re Pulling Along.

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Is that a lie. It is

> It’s not, otloml.

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: You’re just keysmashing

> maybe??? anywaaaaayz u need help with those watermelons right?? I’m gonna come help u with those watermelons. maybe not help but i’ll watch!!! look out for me momo chan (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Ok

> (≖ᴗ≖✿)

[LUMINARY OF THIS DICK]: Yeah what

> Nothing!!!! idiot! on my way! don’t drop dead please!!!! or do, up to u! c u Soon, maybe!!!


	17. Hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

“It’s for two hours,” Momota said, a distinct note of embarrassment tinging his voice. Picking up his bag proved a difficult task to complete with an entire other person hanging off of his back; instead of squatting down to reach it, a movement he assumed would be inhibited by Ouma keeping his feet planted, he gripped the hands locked around his neck and bent horizontally. Ouma practically squawked when he was lifted up into the air.

“Jeez, Kai-chan!” Ouma said, scrambling to get his feet back on the ground while Momota righted. His arms remained steadfastly wrapped around Momota’s shoulders, even as Momota moved to grab his coat from the other side of the room. “If they want you, then they gotta take me, too. Don’t they realize you’ve got stuff to do on the weekends? Important stuff?”

“What, like holding you?” Momota said, laughing at Ouma’s melodramatic gasp in response. “Besides,” he continued, sounding a bit more flustered, “this is important, too. Like, time-sensitive important. I told you not to be surprised if they asked me to come back today. Figured something would fuck up within the next 24 hours...”

“The only thing that’s fucked up is the corporation!” Ouma announced, resolute in his declaration. His resounding confidence quickly faded into something more petulant, however, as Momota approached the door. “Aww, really?” he whined, finally releasing his hold to step back from Momota. “You’ve been busy all week. 9-to-5s are evil, I tell you! Tearing apart the family dynamic at its seams!”

“You done?” Momota asked, the ghost of a smile on his lips while he tugged his coat on.

Ouma snorted. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms and glaring at Momota dressing. “You better be back soon, though. Two hours! Or else I’ll stomp down there and tell your boss to mind his own business. Unless he wants something unsightly to happen to his employee!”

“Like what?” Momota asked.

“Like a bad haircut. Oh, wait,” Ouma said, “you’ve already got one. My mistake! Totally forgot.”

At Momota’s unamused expression, Ouma sighed. “Just be quick, or whatever. I don’t want you to be gone so long that I—ugh—manage to miss you, or something. And don’t make that face at me!” he snapped, pointing up at a still-quiet Momota.

“You’re funny,” Momota just said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Once he seemed content and adjusted, he turned back to Ouma with his arms out. “One for the road, fucker?”

Ouma rolled his eyes. “Be sappier,” he said, letting himself get pulled into his boyfriend’s arms. After a moment, Ouma hugged back as well, his hold tight as Momota rested his chin against the top of his head.

“...Kokichi,” Momota laughed, muffled against his hair.

“Eh?”

“You gonna let go, soon?”

Ouma was quiet. “This was stall-plan B,” he said after a second. Momota snorted lightly and kissed the top of his head.

“Don’t let strangers in,” Momota teased, pulling the door open behind him. “And don’t burn the place down, either.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ouma mocked, waving his hand as Momota headed out. “And same to you, idiot! Try not to reduce JAXA to ashes!”


	18. Handholding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a non-despair au.

“Momota-chan!” Ouma shouted, skipping to where Momota was leant against the side of the school building. As his voice carried down the narrow strip, Momota looked up from what he was holding. “I was searching for you everywhere! It figures you’d be back here, alone. No friends, huh? They all ditch you? Did— _oh_ , my God, is Momota-chan breaking the law?”

Through Ouma’s rambling, Momota hadn’t found the opportunity to cut him off and respond; that, and he was also impeded by the cigarette between his lips. Ouma’s face split into a grin as he took a step closer. “Underage smoking again? Does Saihara-chan know you’re bringing tobacco with you to school?”

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business, kid,” Momota lisped, the cigarette still held in his mouth. He was busy trying to flick his lighter on—the fucked up thing, probably needed more fluid—when Ouma cleared his throat. Momota groaned and spun the wheel again. “What.”

“Do you think you could hold something for me?” Ouma asked, already digging around in his pockets.

Momota sighed, shoving his lighter back into the front of his jacket. Figured the shit would blow out on some random weekday without warning. He pushed the cigarette into place alongside it, then held his hand out in front of him. “Fine, kid. This better not be chewed bubblegum, or some shit.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Ouma said, placing his hand in Momota’s.

Momota looked down. Ouma tightened his grip.

“Uh.”

“Something the matter, Momo-chan?” Ouma asked, beaming up at him. When Momota tried to pull his hand back, Ouma not only clung on, but twined their fingers together.

Momota blinked. “I don’t get it. Didn’t you have something you wanted me to hold?”

“Wow,” Ouma said, frowning. “You’re dense, huh? Well, whatever. Let’s go find Saihara-chan! I’m sure he’d love to spend time with the both of us, like this!”


	19. Gacha games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

Momota was seconds away from confirming his bet on Salmon Fishing when Ouma said, “Oh, again? You should just start playing Love Live, Momota-chan!”

Momota spun around. From the staircase at the front of the room, Ouma descended with an armful of odd gifts and trinkets. Momota didn’t speak as Ouma made his way over, carefully balancing his pile of boxes and books and strange objects.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Ouma asked, setting his collection down on the floor. “I said you should just start playing Love Live, Momota-chan. Much easier way to gamble, and you’ll probably have better chances. Or not, you know, because...you’re you.”

Finally regaining enough sense to respond, Momota said, “The fuck are you talking about? And—what the fuck is all of that!?”

“My winnings,” Ouma said casually, waving him off. “I just kicked the Monomono machine until these all dumped out.”

“Huh? Did you really—“

“But that’s a liiiie!” Ouma cheered, throwing his hands behind his head. “I’m secretly a master of gambling! You know, my Ultimate was supposed to be Ultimate Gambler, but apparently—“

Ouma was cut off as Momota groaned loudly, looking up towards the ceiling. Ouma paused, smiling, and picked up a small box from the floor. Just as Momota started with, “Dude, I fucking swear,” Ouma held the gift out in front of him.

“...Hm?” Momota asked, looking down at it. “What are you...”

“A present for Momota-chan,” Ouma said, still smiling.

Momota blinked. “...Is that gonna fucking explode, or some shit? Is that it?”

“Huh!” Ouma huffed, his expression turning into a pout. “Is that what Momota-chan thinks of me? That I want to blow him up? I try to be nice, and you—!”

“Fine!” Momota shouted, throwing his hands in the air. He yanked the box away from Ouma before the boy could start the crocodile tears. “This better not be—huh?”

Momota fell silent. Instead of a bomb, or weapon, or something else dangerous or stupid—there was a slice of cake in the box.

“Astro cake,” Ouma explained, leaning closer to peer into the box himself. “Freeze dried and everything! Thought you might need to get used to it, since you really do wanna go to space.”

“...It’s not poisoned?” Momota asked, pulling it closer to inspect. The box didn’t look to be damaged, or even opened before he’d unwrapped it, and the cake seemed untouched as well. “Uh...”

“You could say thanks, you jerk!”

“Jeez!” Momota responded, pushing the lid back onto the cake. “I was going to, kid! It just...caught me off guard, is all.”

Ouma sniffed, wiping an imaginary tear from his face. Momota rolled his eyes at the gesture while Ouma fell to his knees to recollect the presents he’d deposited on the ground. “So Momota-chan does believe I’m a mean person... Typical, huh?”

“What?” Momota asked as Ouma stood. “What’s typical?”

“You figuring out that I filled that with wasabi.”

“What!?” Momota demanded, but Ouma was already sprinting towards the stairs, giggling the whole way. Momota turned back towards the Salmon Fishing game, caught between leaving his coins in there and chasing after Ouma.

“Nishishi! No chance of eating something disgusting if you just stick to Love Live gambling, Momota-chan!” Ouma called from the top of the stairs, and Momota spun on his heel. Fuck the coins he’d probably lost—he had a bigger issue to deal with.

“Ouma!” Momota yelled, running after him. “Come fucking back here! Where the hell did you get wasabi!?”


	20. Money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“No way, no way!” Ouma laughed, running circles around Momota, who was trudging through the hallway with his head down. “You actually blew alllll your Monocoins on slots? How senseless, Momota-chan! You must be the unluckiest guy on the planet!”

“Only cause I’ve got you following after me,” Momota muttered bitterly, still refusing to make eye contact. Ouma stopped in his tracks at the words; the lack of movement was enough to get Momota to look up, and then Ouma threw himself into Momota’s arms.

“The hell—!?” Momota said, and then Ouma was skipping down the hall, a giggle echoing back long after he’d disappeared behind the far-end door. “Can fuckin’ never...” Momota started, then froze as he heard the metallic clinking ring from his pocket. He reached into his jacket, and—of course. Ouma had dropped Monocoins into it.

Bastard.

“I didn’t see you at dinner!” Ouma said later, taking a seat next to Momota on the A/V Room’s couch. “Wonder why that was, Momota-chan. Hope you were making good investments, or something.”

“Shut up,” Momota responded, his face burnt deep red.


	21. Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a non-despair au. & happy valentine’s day! ;-)

“So,” Ouma says, and Momota lets out a harsh sigh. Ouma blinks hard at the interruption, then continues louder, “So!”

“You definitely see that I’m busy,” Momota says. Despite his convincing words, his pencil is unmoving, about a millimeter too high over his notebook. “I’m working on shit, Ouma. Go away.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s going too well for you,” Ouma decides, pushing Momota’s bag off of the adjacent desk to sit himself on it. Momota starts at the sound, then looks rapidly between his bag on the ground and Ouma, where it was.

“The fuck is the matter with you? Don’t you have someone else to go bother today?”

“No,” Ouma says. “I cleared my schedule just to spend time with Momota-chan. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Well, _Mo-mo-ta-chan_ ,” Momota repeats, his voice a mocking imitation of Ouma’s words and tone. Ouma’s lips turn up into a smile anyway, surprised and delighted at hearing Momota use the name. “Has a fucking deadline to meet for homework. So he doesn’t have time to waste entertaining any dumbass Supreme Leader.”

“Lucky that I’m a genius Supreme Leader then,” Ouma says, and Momota leans to the ground to drag his backpack up by the straps. Ouma stays quiet while he fumbles with the front pocket for a moment, then pulls something small out of it.

“If I give you this, will you go away?” Momota asks, handing a wrapper to Ouma. Ouma takes it to inspect the thing, and—

“No way!” he cries, jumping straight up off the desk and to his feet. “Strawberry Cheesecake flavor! Momota-chan, they don’t even sell these in the vending machines! Hey, where did you get this? Momota-chan, tell me!”

Momota focuses back on his work, his pencil just as stationary as before. He doesn’t lift his head to meet Ouma’s eyes when he says, “Uh, I don’t know. Just happened to find them, and...”

“And you remembered!” Ouma shouts, waving the candy around. “Aww, Momota-chan! You toootally remembered that I said these were my—“

“Whatever!” Momota barks, his elbow on the table, his cheek against his hand. “You got your candy, and now you gotta leave me the hell alone. Deal’s a deal.”

“Hmm,” Ouma says, and then taps a finger to his chin. “I don’t remember making any deal. But!” he continues, when Momota visibly tenses, “it’s sooo thoughtful that I might just have to bask in solitude myself, to calm my beating, yearning heart.”

“Uh,” Momota says, still facing forward in the desk, looking straight down. “Whatever the fuck that means. I don’t care, so long as you go.”

Ouma sighs dreamily, the sound dramatic and melancholy. “Only for my dear Momota-chan.” He pockets the candy, then takes a step closer. Momota doesn’t seem to notice.

“Bye-bye!” Ouma cheers, leaning forward to press a quick kiss against Momota’s temple. Momota starts, but Ouma’s already bolted straight for the door when he spins around in his seat.

“Hey!” Momota yells, and Ouma slams the door behind him, giggling. Though Ouma had put a significant distance between them, Momota’s voice still carried from the classroom as Ouma raced down the staircase. “BASTARD!”


	22. Sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.

“One,” Ouma hums, and the word carries so lightly that Momota doesn’t even stir from his side of the bed.

“Two. Three.”

“Mhmp.”

“Four. Five. Six—“

“Okay,” Momota finally grumbles. “It’s not a countdown, is it?”

“Count- _up_ ,” Ouma corrects. “If you’re forgetting the order of your numbers, Momota-chan, it could be symptoms of a lot of things. Dementia, for one! I once watched a soap where this poor, old rich woman forgot the name of her lover, and when they were getting down and d—“

“Dude,” Momota says. “First off, when the hell were you watching soaps?”

“Hmm... Did yooou cut me off there so as to skip my narrating the intimate details about the throes of passion?”

Momota snorts.

“ _Alas!_ ” Ouma says, and Momota has no idea what sort of accent he’s going for. “‘‘Twas not quite as passionate as it’d seem! After years of dedication and marriage, the lady cried—“

“Actually, I did cut you off there to skip your narration.”

Though Momota couldn’t see him, he was sure Ouma was making some half-hearted attempt to shrug while curled on his side.

“Your loss,” Ouma sighs, “considering I’m decorated in all sorts of major storytelling awards. Sooo, seven. Eight—“

“Sure, whatever. But it’s not a countdown, yeah? Or, up—whatever the hell you called it.”

“Obviously it’s a count-up,” Ouma says. “I really don’t know if you realized, but I’m _counting_ _up_.”

“But is it dangerous?” Momota asks. “Like, once you hit 20 you’re not gonna lose it and shave my head?”

“No. When I hit 69, I’m just gonna laugh really hard and throw you out of bed. And,” Ouma adds, “if I wanted to shave your head, I _definitely_ wouldn’t be announcing it. I’d strike when you least expected.”

“Least you’re honest,” Momota says, then realizes he’s an idiot. “Okay. Wait, fuck. I take it back. Fuck, I’m exhausted. What’s actually happening?”

Ouma makes another little hum-sound in the back of his throat, and Momota only just resists jumping out of his skin when Ouma touches the hair at the back of his neck. “Just counting sheep, Momota-chan.”

“Don’t fucking—! Oh, man, you better not have scissors over there—“

“I don’t,” Ouma says. “And also, maybe I lied just now about the sheep. I think I’m actually making noises to get my dearest love to sing me to sleep—“

“Alright,” Momota says. “Why the hell are you counting sheep?”

Ouma laughs. “Why’s one usually? When you can’t-fall-asleep, you gotta-count-sheep!”

Momota ignores the sing-song quality in Ouma’s last statement; if he’s reciting a jingle, it’s lost on him. “It’s the middle of the damn night. The hell woke you up?”

“This terrifying dream where I was a centimeter tall, and some ugly man decided to crush me under his boot.”

Momota squints at the wall. “Sounds like a kink.”

“Okay,” Ouma says. “ _Ew_. Like, major ew, Momota-chan. Super not funny. This banter’s gotten real old real quick, so. Nine. Ten. Eleven...”

“One, two, skip a few,” Momota says. “A hundred.”

“Boo! Boring!” Ouma cries. “Your sense of humor has been on a major decline recently, hasn’t it?”

“You made a 69 joke earlier,” Momota points out.

“Uh? And?” Ouma says. “Like that’s not overwhelmingly hysterical or anything?”

Momota doesn’t respond.

“Twelve,” Ouma says, louder than ever. “Thirteen! Fourteen!”

“Okay,” Momota groans. “Come on. Tell me how to fix this.”

“No time for sleuthing it out?” Ouma asks.

“No,” Momota responds. “Unless you just want a damn bedtime story. Is that it?”

“Oh, so there _is_ time for sleuthing it out!”

“Fine,” Momota says, and he rolls himself over to his back, left arm swung out. Ouma wastes no time scooting closer and resting his head against Momota’s shoulder, and when he exhales softly, Momota can feel it against the base of his throat. “A story about...”

“Not O’Brian,” Ouma says, a warm puff of air against Momota’s skin. “You know I hate those ones most.”

Momota’s brow furrows. “You mean  _Orion?_ ” he asks.

“Tomato, to-ma-to,” Ouma says. “Just make it entertaining.”

Momota thinks for a moment. “Well,” he says, and he tilts his head lightly to rest against Ouma’s. “Damn. I guess I haven’t told you the story of Orpheus and Eurydice yet, have I...”


	23. Arson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

Tensions were high in the cafeteria the morning Ouma announced, “I’m gonna commit a crime!”

Momota hit both his knees off the underside of the table then swore, loudly, nearly spitting out the food he was chewing. “What!?” he choked, then covered his mouth with his hand when Harukawa shot him a distasteful look. “You’re just fucking admitting to it now!?”

“Yup!” Ouma cried. “Except I won’t be the blackened. You’ll all be! Once I burn this fuckhouse to the ground!”

“Fuckhouse...?” Yumeno blinked.

“Okay!” Momota yelled, getting to his feet. “We’ll see how that one fucking goes for you once you get—“

“Sit down,” Harukawa said. “Idiot. Can’t you tell this is a blatant—“

“Arson!” Ouma cheered. “Arson! Arson! Ar—“

When Saihara walked in through the door, Ouma’s shoulder smashed into his right side, knocking him off balance. Before he could regain his footing, Momota sped by and knocked into him as well; this collision was hard enough to push him to the ground.

Saihara blinked up at his classmates.

“Morning entertainment’s already gone,” Hoshi sighed, pulling the chair out next to him. “Might as well try to eat before it comes back.”


	24. Heads or tails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

From the bathroom window, only a small corner of the winding, maze-like courtyard was visible. Momota was staring straight out at a metal wall, trying to calculate something, _anything_ about his location—for the millionth time that day, fucking _Hell_ —but the buzz of the surrounding fluorescent lights kept cutting through his skull. No matter how much he tried to tune it out, the noise kept grating and grating and _grating_ , piercing nearly as sharp as the pain in his chest, and—

And Momota still wasn’t sure where he was. He could hardly think straight. As he shook himself in an attempt to refocus, to get _anything_ together, a sharp knock rang out from behind him.

Momota clenched his teeth.

“Momota-chan!” Ouma called, high and muffled through the industrial door.

Momota didn’t speak.

“I know you’re not asleep in there, idiot!” Ouma called again, then proceeded to knock repeatedly against the metal. “Heeey! Momota-chan!”

“What!?” Momota yelled back, then bit his tongue hard. It was a poor attempt at restraining himself from screaming further. The warped knocking sound ceased, echoed for a moment, and then Ouma spoke.

“Call a round of heads or tails for me?”

“Heads or—what?” Momota said. He closed the window quietly and walked closer to speak through the door. “The fuck are you talking about?” Momota thought for a moment, then tried again. “Is this a sick game or some shit where you’re deciding if I get to eat or not?”

“Yeah,” Ouma responded. “Tails, you get dinner; heads, you starve. It’s that simple.”

“Fuck off,” Momota hissed, sliding his back along the door to lower himself to the ground. He’d been in the god-knew-where bathroom for a fucking day, probably; it wasn’t a surprise that Ouma’s antics were testing his patience far more than usual. Especially since...

Ouma was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again, Momota was caught off guard by how near his voice sounded. “It’s not about you,” he said. “You’re being a little bit conceited, huh?”

When Momota didn’t respond, Ouma continued. “I just want you to pick my options. Like, one, I’ll do something really stupid like hunting down a humane cop-out. The other, and I’ll just stick to the plan. Even if it’s super icky. And painful.”

Momota pressed his palms against his eyelids. “I’ve got no fucking clue what that means.”

A beat.

“Well,” Ouma said. “Your answer?”

Fuck it, Momota decided. Fuck it to hell and back. Ouma could talk in whatever riddles he damn pleased, and if it got him to fuck the hell off, then he’d answer whatever nonsense just for the semi-quiet. If only to plan.

“Heads for the second one. Tails for the first.”

For a few seconds, Momota couldn’t hear anything, but then there was a soft clatter against the floor. The coin—a Monocoin, Momota assumed; Ouma was keen on carrying those around—bounced a couple times, then dropped to the floor with one final, resounding click.

Ouma said nothing.

“Satisfied?” Momota asked after a moment.

When Ouma spoke again, his voice was further away, muffled and unreadable.

“Yeah, Momota-chan. I am.”


	25. Cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a non-despair au.

“You look mad!” Akamatsu said in greeting. “That’s not great. If you’re angry, I could play you a sample of In the Hall of the Mountain King by Edvard Grieg. That always turns anger right into passion!” As she took a seat next to Momota, she caught herself. “I—ah, so! Okay, that’s not what I meant. Hi, Momota-kun. Are you mad?”

Momota didn’t move from his tense position at his desk, his posture rigid with a scowl frozen on his face.

“You must be mad,” Akamatsu deduced. “I mean... Okay, no, it is what I meant. Why do you look so mad?”

“Can never get a fuckin’ break around here,” Momota grumbled.

Akamatsu waited a moment. 

“And...so, that means what, exactly?”

“It means,” Momota said harshly, finally spinning to face her, “that I don’t get any goddamn breaks! Fuck, I—this isn’t about you, so don’t think that. Sorry. Shit. I’m just pissed the hell off!”

Akamatsu nodded. “I can tell,” she said. “Care to actually explain, or should I take a guess?”

“No, it’s fucking complicated. It’s just—“

“Something that’s relatively short, purple, and obnoxious?”

“...Okay,” Momota conceded, “so, you got it.”

“I knew it,” Akamatsu said. “You’re really both fighting again? It seems like Ouma-kun’s been trying to rile you up a lot recently...and I guess it’s working. What happened this time?”

Momota jumped at the opportunity. “The fucker broke into my phone!”

“Oh!” Akamatsu said. “He did that to—“

“The others, too!” Momota finished for her. “He fucking set some sort of alarm in the settings. I couldn’t get that shit to turn off! Oh, and you know what he set it for? Three fucking AM! And then it wouldn’t stop—“

“Iruma-san fixed all of those,” Akamatsu smiled. “Earlier today. Weren’t you there? I thought you were...”

Momota frowned. “Uh, must not’ve been... I was probably the only one who actually cared to chase Ouma down! He...got away, but—next time, I’ll get him for sure! And recruit the others to help for fucking once.”

“That could work,” Akamatsu said. “In fact, I could help you with it, Momota-kun! I’d be just as mad if someone pranked me like that. Though, I don’t know if the others would care to join in too much.”

Momota scoffed. “Probably because he’s too cute or something.”

Akamatsu blinked.

“...Akamatsu?” Momota said. “You’re givin’ me a weird look.”

Akamatsu blinked again. “Did you say Ouma was cute?”

“What?” Momota said. “No, I—I just meant that the others probably don’t retaliate cause he’s cute! Wait, no, cause they think he’s cute!”

“I don’t think the others think he’s cute,” Akamatsu said. “I think they think he’s not worth the time. Why, though?” she asked, giving him a look. “Do _you_ think he’s cute?”

“No!” Momota choked, his voice breaking. “T-That’s not what I meant at all! A-Akamatsu, you’re jumping to some weird conclusions!”

“Oh!” Akamatsu said. “You hit a perfect G sharp. But...Momota-kun, you’re the one who said it.”

“I just said that he uses being cute to get away with things! I-I’m the one who sees through it, though!”

“So you _do_ think he’s cute?”

“No!” Momota yelled again. “I just think—“

The classroom door slid open. Both Akamatsu and Momota spun around at the same time to watch Ouma step carefully into the room.

“Momota-chan!” he said. 

Akamatsu’s eyebrows went up. “Where did he...?”

“You look red!” Ouma continued. “That’s really funny, ‘cause you know, I felt red. I felt sooo red that I could definitely tell someone was talking about me, which is why I’m here. It was you, right?”

Momota was on his feet in a second. “How much of that shit did you hear?”

“Ouma-kun,” Akamatsu said hastily, “we _were_ talking about you, actually! Did you set an alarm on—“

“I didn’t hear any of it,” Ouma shrugged. “That’s okay, though! I still know how you feel about me. Apparently our other classmates are too dumb to notice that I’m a total catch, but you—“

Akamatsu took it upon herself to give chase as the two of them sprinted down the hallway.

“Momota-kun!” she yelled, dodging classmates. “Please! Slow down!”

“He just likes me!” Ouma yelled back to her, vaulting a trash can. “C’mooon, Akamatsu-chan! This is totally—“

”You’ll be seeing fuckin’ _stars_ after this, dumbass!”

“—normal behavior for couples!” Ouma finished.

Akamatsu wasn’t sure how true it was, but it was true enough for them. She shook her head and continued after them, calling half-apologies to anyone who managed to pass by the flurry of threats and flirting.


	26. Shrine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“Oh, Momota-chan!” Ouma chirped. “I figured you’d be out here.”

From where he was settled on his jacket opposite the Shrine of Judgment, Momota flinched. Though the roar of the waterfall had dulled Ouma’s volume considerably, his voice was still far more than audible.

“Really kinda nice, isn’t it?” Ouma asked when Momota turned to face him. He took a step closer. “When there’s no more Student Council saying we’ll burn in Hell for leaving our rooms. This location, though... Seems like an odd choice for someone who can’t find that heart-pounding, exilerating rush in awaiting a Class Trial.”

Momota’s expression turned more sour the more Ouma spoke. “How’d you find me?” he asked.

“Easy,” Ouma said. “I was making my nightly rounds, like a perfectly normal killing game participant might, when I noticed that your room was unlocked, and—“

“And what?” Momota snapped. “You came to finish me off?”

Ouma blinked. The door swung shut behind him as he made his way over to where Momota sat. “Wow. You’re a pretty paranoid guy, aren’t you? Thinking little ol’ me would chase you down just to kill you.”

Momota frowned up at him.

“Of course,” Ouma said, “this may all be part of your trap, huh, Momota-chan? Luring me out here to snap my neck and leave me in the bushes. No one would ever suspect it. Actually, that’s a pretty smart idea! Ooh, ooh, Momota-chan! I think I might steal that one! If you won’t use it, then—“

“Shut up,” Momota said, and turned away.

“Hm.”

They were quiet. 

And in the seconds of silence that hung between them, Ouma made the decision to situate himself directly between Momota’s legs.

“Fuck, dude!” Momota yelped, scrambling backwards on his jacket. He pulled his legs in to cross them, and Ouma mirrored the position from his own spot not a foot away. “The hell is the matter with you? Y-You’re the one who says Kiibo can’t read moods, half the time!”

“Oh, I can read your mood,” Ouma said. “I just don’t care for it. What kind of loser comes out here to brood by himself at midnight?”

“I’m not—I’m not fucking brooding, or whatever!” Momota shouted. “And I’m not a loser, either!”

Ouma shrugged. “Sounds like something a brooding loser would say.”

Ouma knew he was pushing his luck. A frustrated growl escaped Momota’s mouth; he ran his hands down his face, paused at his chin, then levelled Ouma with an exasperated stare.

He had rather long eyelashes, Ouma noticed. He’d never been that close to Momota’s face before. From a distance, it probably wasn’t that evident, but with them facing each other, their knees almost touching, it seemed obvious—even if he did look annoyed.

“I’m just gonna ask you this outright,” Momota said. He dropped his hands. “And you better not fucking lie to me.”

“Suspecting me of something so awful? You really are a paranoid guy.”

“Cut the shit,” Momota said. “Why are you here?”

“But why are you here?” Ouma asked. “I thought you never ran from anything.”

Momota squinted. “The hell are you going on about? What am I supposed to be running from?”

“You tell me. I’m all ears, so long as you don’t get too choked up.”

Momota looked at him.

“Hard not to do that though, right—“

“Shut up,” Momota interrupted.

”Oh?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Ouma clicked his tongue and leant back to support himself up with his arms. “So that’s the case, then. I guess it wouldn’t be too hard for you to play dumb.”

“Do you _want_ to get punched again?” Momota seethed. “Cause I can—“

“There, there, tough guy!” Ouma interrupted. He reached out to pat Momota’s knee condescendingly, and it was with that movement that he knew his luck had run out; Momota’s expression darkened, and Ouma took the opportunity to scramble to his feet.

“Okay, fine, I get it. I’ve got other patrols to take tonight anyways, since nobody—“

“You have a fucking problem,” Momota gritted out.

“—else around here cares to help with them at all. Try not to think about me too much,” Ouma nodded. “You really love to assume things, but I certainly don’t know anything about you at all.

“Ouma.”

Ouma took a bow and tipped an imaginary hat before he spun on his heel. “Ciao,” he offered, then didn’t look back at Momota sitting alone.


	27. Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in a modern au.  
> (+warning for mild mention of vomiting)

While Momota lay spread across the cold, bathroom tile, his face down against the rug, Ouma knocked on the doorframe with his free hand.

“Astro Boy,” he greeted. “You’re just doing this for attention, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Momota said, his words muffled and hardly recognizable through the fabric against his mouth.

“Sounds like a bad idea,” Ouma said, stepping over Momota’s body. “I mean, you’d probably just throw up on me, and despite what you think, I’m not actually into that kind of thing! Though, you know—“

“Uuuggghh,” Momota groaned. “Just get out.”

“What, no crude jokes?” Ouma smiled. He crouched low to the floor so he could place a small hand against Momota’s shoulder blade. “You usually love those. Anyway, get up.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I said, get up,” Ouma repeated. He ran his hand up to the nape of Momota’s neck, lightly tugging his fingers through the loose hair. “Get uuuuppp! Come on, you can’t—“

Momota cut him off with another groan, then lifted his head slowly. Ouma moved his hand lower to smooth the tangled pieces of hair back into place.

“S’in your hand?” Momota slurred.

“Bleach,” Ouma shrugged, holding the glass out.

Momota gave the drink a dubious sniff after taking it from Ouma, then took a sip.

“But don’t swallow it!” Ouma said, already pulling it back. “You’re just gonna throw it up again, idiot!”

Momota rolled his eyes and leaned over the side of the toilet to spit the water out. “Whatever. Would be kinda fuckin’ nice to throw something back up after all the dry heaving.”

“Ewww,” Ouma said, passing the glass back over. Momota took another sip and spit it out. “TMI, Momota-chan. That’s what you’ve been up to all morning? Seizing on the bathroom floor like a dying animal?”

“Wouldn’t say it like that,” Momota grumbled. “J-Just... Trying to—“

“Not feel useless?” Ouma asked, then pouted when Momota shot him a sour look. “What, like I’m wrong? Everyone knows that the _Luminary_ _of_ _the_ _Stars!_ would push himself ‘til he died, if it came to that. Good thing you have me here to keep you stuck on the floor!”

“Yeah, good fucking thing,” Momota muttered. “I’m—feeling better, anyway. Haven’t thrown up in...”

“Ten minutes,” Ouma said, tapping his wrist.

“The fuck? You don’t have a watch—“

“Anyway!” Ouma smiled, setting the glass down on the floor. “Momota-chan isn’t going anywhere today, whether he’s ready to risk it all or not. Don’t want innocent street children to get sick!”

“Then what the fuck do you want me to—“

“Sleep,” Ouma said. “Rest, stay in bed, have sweet dreams, drift off peacefully, get your 40 winks...”

Momota was quiet. His head still hung over the toilet, he finally responded, “It’s not that—“

“Except it is!” Ouma said, standing next to him. He placed a hand on Momota’s shoulder. “Come on, get back to bed. Everyone gets sick, even astronauts. Oh, except for me, of course. Forgot about that...”

“Because you’re—“

“A super secret evil Supreme Leader, yep! I’m immune to all strains of all diseases. Ever. Now,” Ouma said, “come on, for real. Or else I’m gonna get a gurney in here to wheel you twenty feet!”

“Fuck,” Momota said. He stood shakily, letting himself hold Ouma’s arm for support, to which Ouma looked extremely pleased. “Fine. I-I’ll just...”

“I’ll just bring a trash can in, once you’re in bed,” Ouma finished. “Just for decoration, or whatever. It’ll look nice right next to you, in my professional opinion...”

As Ouma led him from the room, Momota said, “Ouma.”

“Who?” Ouma asked. “Oh, that guy’s not listening. Come on, talking is gonna make you sicker, or something... No need to say anything else!”

Momota was quiet. He glanced down as Ouma pushed his door open. “Ouma,” he said again. “Really—“

“No need!” Ouma also repeated, already skipping over to fluff Momota’s pillows in an exaggerated manner. “Really, Momota-chan. Keep that up and you’ll blow chunks for the millionth time! Now, get in bed,” Ouma said, “before we have to hose the walls off.”

Momota blinked hard in the doorway, and if he were hardly repressing a smile or whatever, Ouma definitely didn’t notice anything like that.


	28. Jokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing game compliant.

“M-Momota-chan!” Ouma was giggling from the top of the staircase, clutching his stomach and doubled over in hysteria. “H-Hey!” he called, bracing himself up again the wall with his free arm. “Momota-chan! Momota-chan!”

Momota stopped at the bottom of the platform, then glanced back over his shoulder and around the area as if expecting something bad to happen. When nothing jumped out at him, he turned back to face Ouma.

”Uh,” he said, a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah?”

”I-Is that,” Ouma laughed, and Momota was sure he could see tears in his eyes. “Is that a—!”

”A...” Momota prompted, almost nervous.

”Is that a _galaxy_ _jacket?_ ” Ouma managed.

Momota squinted down at himself. “...Yes?”

“Because your torso is out of this world!” Ouma finished, then broke back into immediate hysterics.

”M-My torso!?” Momota stuttered. “That’s fucked up, man!” At once, he came to a decision. “A-Alright, then! Two can fuckin’ play at that game!” he called. “Ouma!”

Ouma was attempting to arrange himself back against the wall. “Y-Yeah?” he asked.

”Is that a straight jacket?” Momota asked, then realized he had no clue where to take it from there.

”It is!” Ouma confirmed.

“Uh,” Momota said. “Uh, cause... Oh! Cause, uh, that’s funny! Considering you look anything but!”

Momota was sure that the joke wasn’t _that_  hilarious, actually, but it didn’t stop Ouma from laughing so hard that he stumbled and tripped down the staircase, Momota only just rushing forward in time to catch him against his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, this was definitely one of the funnier projects i’ve worked on recently, even if some chapters got varied in genre, haha. thanks to anyone who’s stuck around for the updates this month! i had a fun time trying to develop settings in ~700 words or less.
> 
> & kat, thanks for all the prompts you sent me. :-) really got me thinking outside of the box, hahaha. hope you enjoyed!


End file.
